


Return Of The King, The

by HASA_Archivist



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Poetry, War of the Ring, Writing - Clear prose, Writing - Mythic/Poetic, Writing - Well-handled introspection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-26
Updated: 2015-06-26
Packaged: 2018-04-06 08:50:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 334
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4215383
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HASA_Archivist/pseuds/HASA_Archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Return of the King as seen by Denethor, memories and madness...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Return Of The King, The

**Author's Note:**

> Note from the HASA Transition Team: This story was originally archived at [HASA](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Henneth_Ann%C3%BBn_Story_Archive), which closed in February 2015. To preserve the archive, we began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in February 2015. We posted announcements about the move, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this author, please contact The HASA Transition Team using the e-mail address on the [HASA collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/hasa/profile).

Oh would your blade by any other name still cut as deep,  
Thorongil, eagle-king in anything and nothing but a name  
of broken shards? A legacy of time long gone and hope forlorn,  
yet not of truth, for emptiness is all that it could ever claim.

Oh would your words by any other voice still sound as cold,  
that echoing in stone-clad halls resound, resound and ring in vain?  
As dawnless darkness rises, words are naught but whispers and  
naught else can be but fading echoes of the wise and mighty slain.

Oh would your face from any other's eyes look ashen grey  
as ashen grey to me you seem? A shadow and a faded thought  
that I deemed lost for long, unbidden now it has returned  
to lose a war that its own bitter treachery, naught else, has wrought.

Yet your reward will be but ashen crown and broken throne  
beside a lower seat, yet nobler, brighter, prouder, and by far.  
And there a silent judge shall sit beside this king returned  
to broken screams of anguish wreathed in flames, a fading silver star.

No tomb for him you scorned, for him you robbed of father's warmth,  
no memories upon an ever-silent bed of glorious stone.  
The searing flames are his, that warmth at last in death be found.  
The silent road he chooses, but the ashes will not now be his alone.

And when these halls come crashing down, his shadow will be still.  
And he, he who has known in life no peace, in peacefulness no rest,  
he who, oath-bound to an abandoned queen, your queen, has fought,  
bereft of power will not stand to see her broken at the test.

Oh would your blade by any other name still cut as deep?  
I know not, for it seems the veiling shadow's lengthening at dawn...  
If victory I shall not have, at least I will not suffer this defeat!  
Return then, King! Return then to your slaughtered queen, your hope forlorn.


End file.
